Page 65 of The Nanny and the Hothead
The word went straight to her heart, followed by a jolt of panic. She had absolutely no idea where they were going.
Zilch! Nothing!
What type of person didn’t even know the address of where they’d be spending the next two months? She released a resigned sigh. That wasn’t hard to answer. The kind of person who bangs their boss on the second day of work, apparently.
She straightened and lifted her chin. That was the past. It was time to move on.
There was one rule, and she couldn’t break it…again.
No chef sex.
No toe-curlingly hot hanky-panky with the growly hard-bodied hothead.
None.
At all.
She closed her eyes, and her traitorous brain had to choose that very moment to recall the sweet slide of Mitch’s hard length as he thrust inside her over and over and over—
“Should I ask my dad?” Oscar asked, cutting off her dirty-girl train of thought.
“How about we play a game and guess?” she offered, slightly breathless, as the RV turned down a winding road.
She fanned herself. It had gotten hot!
“Are you feeling all right, Charlotte? Your cheeks are real red,” the boy observed.
She plastered on a grin. “I’m fine. It’s a redhead thing. Now, do you think that’s your new house?” she said, pointing to a sprawling Spanish-style home.
“Nope,” Oscar answered as the RV passed by.
“What about…” Charlotte began as a mountain mansion appeared. Made of stone and exposed wood timbers, she knew that this was it. They turned onto the home’s circular driveway, and Mitch cut the engine. She looked away from the stunning home and watched Mitch. She could see him in the rearview mirror. The man looked utterly lost. He rubbed his eyes, then glanced in the mirror and caught her staring. She froze, unable to look away. There it was—that flash of vulnerability, that glimpse of the man behind the angry facade.
“Who are those people over there, Dad?” Oscar asked, walking toward the front of the RV.
She scanned the property again. She hadn’t noticed the two women sitting on a small bench beneath a leafy willow tree. But there they were. One waved while the other crossed her arms and sported a scowl.
Mitch peered at Oscar, then met her gaze in the mirror. And again, she was spellbound, unable to look away.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as his features hardened. “Those people are a big problem.”
Eleven
Charlotte
Charlotte grabbedher tote bag and hurried toward the front of the RV as a stone-faced Mitch exited the vehicle.
Whoever these women were, Mitch wasn’t happy to see them.
“Do you know those ladies, Oscar?” she asked, helping the boy put on his backpack as she did that thing where one attempts to get an eyeful while appearing completely oblivious.
Oscar stared at her. “You’re making a weird face, and your eyeballs are moving around like crazy,” the boy added, crossing and uncrossing his eyes.
Yeah, she sucked at the eavesdropping game!
“Maybe those ladies are fancy lost grandmas?” he guessed, but she was certain it wasn’t that.
The sharply dressed women looked to be in their late fifties or early sixties. And whoever they were, the taller of the two wasn’t happy. Dressed in a tailored jet-black pantsuit with a slim briefcase and her hair in a severe French twist, the woman’s seething scowl could probably be seen three states over.
